Brain Damage
by damigella
Summary: Deep brain stimulation is a dangerous procedure. What if House's brain had been damaged? Open approach to sexuality may irk you. I love reviews and concrit, the better if I can answer.
1. Amber's Funeral

Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.

Author's note: This fic is a very expanded version of a one/shot of mine, Almost Like A Child. Many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

* * *

**Chapter 1 - Amber's Funeral**

It had been difficult even to stand up and listen. Cuddy's idea that he shouldn't be the one to deliver the eulogy was obviously right. Now the priest had finished saying the benediction, and soon it would be time to go and leave Amber there. Alone in the dark. He missed the familiar rhythm of the Kaddish, but Amber's parents wouldn't have appreciated its inclusion at their daughter's funeral. He saw Cuddy approaching.

"Thank you for being here, Cuddy. Will you find the time to sit shiva with me for a while tomorrow?"

"Wilson, I know this is not what you want to hear now, but you need to come to the hospital. Immediately."

"Is it House? Is he dying?"

"He's not dying, but he needs you and you have to come. Now."

"Cuddy, I can't do that. I know it's not his fault, but if he hadn't called Amber for a ride, she would be alive now. I can't stand the thought of him, much less the sight of him." Wilson looked somewhere above and to the right of Cuddy's face. "Also, it's not like it makes a difference for him if I'm there or not."

"He didn't call her, he called you. And he woke up this morning."

"I had forgotten." Cuddy winced at this, but said nothing. "Foreman mentioned it to me. This is good news, isn't it? He told me he can speak and answer questions."

"Yes. Except he has suffered brain damage. He has severe amnesia, and the brain level of a child."

"I'm so sorry, Cuddy. I didn't know that. But I don't see how I can help, I'm not a neurologist."

"He has cried all the time. He didn't recognize me, or his team, or anyone else. He was calling 'mommy' but he didn't recognize either of his parents." With a rather dramatic gesture she removed the thick black scarf draped around her head. "Here's what I did to help him remember."

"What...what happened to your hair?"

"These are the cut and color I had when I first met House, and we had that brief fling. All neurologists we consulted said that he might be able to remember important faces from the past, people he had cared for, but only if they weren't too much changed." It's lucky there's no make up on her face, or her tears would have washed it away by now. "You are his last hope. Our last hope. And you owe it to him to try. Even if it was his idea to do the deep brain stimulation, he did it for you."

"Cuddy...it wasn't _his_ idea. I asked him. And he knew he could die. And he did it all the same." The oncologist looked bent under the weight of a terrible pain. His hands were shaking as he pulled a bunch of keys out of his pocket. "Can you drive me to the hospital in my car? I don't think I would be able to right now."


	2. Jimmy

Author's note: Many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

* * *

**Chapter 2 - Jimmy**

There were a number of people outside House's room when Wilson arrived. He got introduced to those he didn't know, names he recognized as top level neurologists from all over the East coast, plus one from Chicago and one from Stanford. If they were wondering what an oncologist was doing at the bedside of a brain damaged patient, they didn't mention it.

Wilson tried hard to compose himself, locking up in a corner of his mind the memory of Amber, but he didn't feel quite ready when all too soon Foreman came out of the room and called him. He whispered "Go near him, as much as you can, and talk clearly to him. We don't know yet how well he can see or hear."

House was quietly sobbing, and Wilson looked at him for a moment, feeling angry and guilty at the same time. Then he sat near him on the bed, put his hand on his friend's shoulder, smiled at him, and said "Hi, House. I'm happy to see you awake."

Blue eyes almost pierced him, and the pale, wrinkled face slowly distended itself in a smile. "Jimmy! Jimmy! You're here!" It was the well known voice alright, but the tone was so different from any he had experienced before. As was the feeling of being tightly hugged by two long, strong arms as a few remaining tears were shed on his shoulder. "Jimmy, I'm so happy you're here. When can I go home?"

He gasped for air, and then collected himself. He knew how to talk to children who were too young to understand sickness. "Soon, House. Now you are in a hospital, you are sick and the doctors have to make sure you are well again before you can go home." He was returning the hug with his right arm and using the left hand to caress what was visible of the forehead under the gauze. "You need to get better."

The smile grew larger. "I will, if you take care of me. You're not going away, right?"

Wilson sighed, feeling Cuddy's eyes on his back, as well as those of House's parents, team, and a number of colleagues. "I will not leave you, if you want me here. Should I ask to have a cot added in the room so I can spend the night here?"

"Oh yes, Jimmy, please."

"Good. Now wait here a few minutes, I have to arrange so that someone will go and pick up my pajamas." He made a gesture to a well-known face. "You can be with Cameron while I do this. She's a friend of mine and a very nice person."

House looked doubtfully at her, then smiled again at Wilson and nodded. "Come back soon!"

"Wonderful, Wilson! You made it!" Cuddy hugged him, smiling through tears, as soon as he was out of the door.

"I'm so confused. Why me? We weren't even so close recently." He scratched nervously the back of his head. "And why Jimmy? He usually calls me Wilson."

"I can't answer these questions. But I hope you were sincere when you said you would be back and spend the night."

"Of course I was. I'll arrange for someone to get my stuff from Amber's apartment. Can I stay here with him?"

"As long as you want. I'll try to get an actual bed moved in, it will be more comfortable." Her smile suddenly waned, and she looked at him with suspicion. "What made you change your mind? You didn't even want to see him before."

"I couldn't imagine that I would be so important to him." Wilson looked intently at his shoes. "Plus, it's all my fault he's here. I had tried so hard to forget that. I think I never will."


	3. Taking Decisions

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

* * *

**Chapter 3 - Taking Decisions**

Cuddy looked very professional at the head of her meeting room table. Wilson felt a bit strange sitting with House's parents on what was obviously the potential caregivers' side, Stacy (as House's lawyer) and the Head of Neurology sitting opposite them.

"We are here to review the current health and future perspectives of Dr. Gregory House, in order to take appropriate decisions for his future care. Dr. Hwang, please."

"Dr. House has suffered severe brain damage. Some improvement may be observed with time, but no important changes are likely to happen. He has lost most of his memory, has an estimated IQ of 80 points, and the equivalent emotional level of a six year old. We do not expect him to ever recognize anyone else from his past, except Dr. Wilson."

"Is there really no hope of recovering?" House's father sounded as if he couldn't believe at the finality of the sentence.

Surprisingly, Dr. Hwang smiled. "Actually, we don't know for sure. What I'm presenting to you is the most likely scenario. But brain injuries outcomes have sometimes surprising recoveries. Rarely, but it happens. And of course, there is no precedent in the literature for what happened to your son." He didn't add "because no sane doctor would give deep brain stimulation to someone with a cracked skull" but the words were clearly present in everybody's mind.

House's father started speaking to Cuddy, his voice tone rising in anger. "Why did you give him the stimulation anyway? I asked around and it couldn't have been therapy! I'll sue you all!"

Stacy intervened. "As Dr. House's lawyer, I have to ask you to listen to me before you go on. Dr. House knew the procedure was risky, and he called me urgently to draft and witness documents that release PPTH from any responsibility for performing it." Stacy Warner kept her composure perfectly unchanged. Wilson couldn't help wondering whether this was self-control or a side effect of Botox. "I would like to remind you that, while you and Mrs House are the only blood relatives, Dr. Wilson here is not only his attending doctor and his medical proxy, but I also have documents in which Dr. House requests that, in case of a long-term disability, Dr. Wilson should be appointed his guardian. If he consents, of course." She added, looking in Wilson's direction.

"Yes? And how old are these 'documents'? Did my son get a chance to change his mind before this idiot here almost got him killed with a dangerous, useless procedure? I can see his signature here, on the authorization form, along with my son's!"

Wilson turned pale, and was not sure what to answer. Luckily, he didn't have to. "Colonel House, I understand your distress. Some of the documents had been filed with me for several years, but Dr. House requested that I bring them along and have them signed again in the hour before the last procedure." She breathed out, and continued in a calmer tone. "You are of course free to appoint your own lawyer, to whom I will be pleased to send complete, certified copies. Just as I have provided them to PPTH's Legal Department."

Cuddy put the meeting back on track. "Dr. Hwang, now that we understand the legal situation a bit better, can you tell us what you propose for the short-term and long-term care of Dr. House?"

"He is physically healthy, needing possibly a little extra pain management since his head might hurt, besides his thigh. He needs to resume physical therapy for his leg, and he'll need psychotherapy, speech therapy, and more generally occupational therapy to improve his condition and regain his skills as much as possible. He could in principle be cared for at home, but he would need a dedicated caregiver almost full time. A reasonable alternative could be one of a number of very good institutions."

"Would we be able to care for him?" It was the first time the voice of Blythe House could be heard. She wasn't crying, and her tone was firm, if low.

"You might, Mrs House. You might need to hire someone for the physical care. We would also have to check your home for handicapped access and availability of appropriate medical care in the area."

Wilson intervened for the first time. "Maybe I have missed something, but I thought the lawyer said I was supposed to be House's guardian. Couldn't I just move in with him? It might do him good to be back in his own place, which is already accessible and near this hospital, and I'm a doctor and could take care of him. Plus, I'm strong enough to care for all his physical needs."

"This is ridiculous. My son is sick; it will be me and my wife who take care of him!"

This time it was Cuddy who interrupted. "Colonel House, no offense, but Dr. House has made it very clear what he wants. Long-term custody will have to be decided in court in a few months' time, but for the short-term, Dr. Wilson can have it if he wants since this hospital's Legal Department has already verified Ms. Warner's documents. Dr. Wilson, may I ask you what you intend to do once your current two weeks of leave is over?"

"I want to be appointed his guardian and caregiver for six months starting now, and will take unpaid compassionate leave for that time. After three months, I will decide whether to seek custody and if so under what conditions, so that in case of need a smooth transition to a new caregiver, family or institutional, is possible."

The Colonel was red in his face. "This is absurd. Outrageous. Sick people should be cared for by family, not by their almost murderers!"

"Stay calm, John. This is what Greg wanted." She kept her hand on her husband's arm.

* * *

"Jimmy! I have missed you so much!" The deep hug felt less strange because of it being repeated so often. "You can go now, Jimmy's here!" Chase said goodbye quickly and left them alone.

"Great news House. Very soon we'll be going home. Together."


	4. Going Home

**Author's note**: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, **coconut_ice22**.

**Chapter 4: Going Home**

Wilson was sitting on House's couch. It was almost midnight and time to go to bed. He had decided against beer and chamomile tea and opted for a Zolpidem instead; he expected a long day tomorrow and needed rest. Before he drugged himself, though, he had to find time for thinking, something which had escaped him in many exhausting days of caring for House and educating himself on his current condition and its management, and as many restless nights spent calming down House whenever he woke up from one of a series of nightmares, most of which involved either a traffic accident or a mysterious rod piercing his skull. Or dealing with his own nightmares when House slept quietly.

He reviewed his itemized lists to make sure everything was ready for his friend's return the next day. He had hired a cleaning person, had brought two suitcases of clothes for himself, refilled appropriately the medicine cabinet with hospital prescriptions, and bought sufficient groceries. He had called his parents and his lawyer to inform them of the change of address. He had called Amber's parents to say that he had moved out and had his stuff put in storage, so that they could go and empty her apartment, before the rental agreement terminated at the end of the month. Soon nothing would be left of what he had believed would be the main love story of his life.

He realized with a shock that he had hardly thought of Amber since the day of the funeral. The pain of her loss, once a sharp blade, was now little more than a dull throbbing, barely perceptible against the feeling of being skinned alive that was witnessing House's current condition, coupled with the roaring fire of his guilt. The moment when he had asked House to kill himself for Amber had become a repeating movie in his mind, and that was what he hoped the medication would help him escape. At least tonight. He didn't dare taking sleeping pills when House was with him, in case he was needed and not sufficiently awake.

He gulped down the pill, put on his pajamas and brushed his teeth. He then retired to House's couch, wondering why he hadn't chosen to sleep in the empty bed, wondering what his plans were for the future beyond the six months horizon, wondering what his feelings were for the man, the child, whom he had finally persuaded to sleep a night without him, pleading the necessity of preparing his removal. He tried to estimate how many years could House possibly live, and how long he himself would theoretically be fit enough to care for him. Theoretically, of course; House may very well end up in an institution. Wilson could certainly afford a very good one. So why was he still comparing ages? Luckily, at this point, the sleeping pill finally kicked in.

* * *

"Good morning House! Did you miss me last night?"

"Only when I woke up. You were there when I fell asleep and I slept very well."

This wasn't so surprising, as Wilson had given him a sleeping pill as well. "How was breakfast?"

"I didn't eat it. It was some brownish goo. I drank the chocolate milk, though."

"Hospital breakfasts aren't really the best. Tomorrow I'll make pancakes."

"That's great! Are you making me ma...ma...I think you made me special pancakes which start with ma."

"It's great you can remember my macadamia nut pancakes. They've been your favorite for a long time. So, are you happy to be going back home?"

"Yes, although...I can't remember it too well. Have we been living together long? My head doesn't hurt so much anymore but my memory is still jumbled up."

"No, we have been living together but only for a while." This kind of question was expected, and the psychologist had helped Wilson prepare answers. But faced with reality, he wasn't sure either that the choices he made were correct, or that he would be able to sound convincing in this modified version of truth. He hoped he didn't have to start lying today. He felt it would be a bad omen.

"But now we are going to live together for a very, very long while, right Jimmy?"

"Well, this hasn't been decided yet."

"What do you mean? I want to live with you! Who else would I want to be with? What are you talking about?"

House was almost screaming, and he looked like he was approaching a panic attack. Wilson backtracked fast. "No, of course not. We will be living together for a long, long while." He tried to rationalize that, for his friend's current brain, three or six months were a long time. He still felt like a traitor.

* * *

Later, lunch at the hospital cafeteria went as well as in the previous days. Since House had been allowed to get out of his room, the whole hospital had been warned to let him live his life in peace, without trying to make him remember what was gone forever. Wilson was grateful, the more so because the House sitting in front of him and mischievously stealing his French fries was the nearest he had seen to his old self in a long, long time.

* * *

Once the nursing staff that had helped to move House, his foldaway wheelchair, his walker and his crutches was gone, House started to go around excitedly into every corner of the apartment. He was sufficiently proficient with the crutches, and his physical therapist had said he might very well go back to the cane soon. "Wilson! Is this my bed?"

He got up from the couch, where he was sipping his fifth coffee of the day, and joined his friend. "Yes, it is. Can you remember it?"

"I can't really remember sleeping in it, but I felt it was mine as soon as I saw it. It's so beautiful! So big!" House was now looking everywhere. "But there's no room for your bed! Where do you sleep?"

"Usually on the living room couch. It's very comfortable, actually."

"Ah, come on, you can't be serious! Why would you want to sleep in a different room?"

A thoughtful expression descended slowly on his face, not unlike the one he used to have as he tried to solve a medical puzzle.

"Of course there would be no room here for another bed. Because this bed is too large. In fact, it looks twice as large as the bed in the hospital. Mmmhhh." He turned to Wilson with a sudden burst of laughter.

"I figured it all out! You were joking of course! We both sleep here, that's why the bed is so big!" House looked very satisfied about his deductive reasoning, especially when the last pieces of the puzzle found their appropriate place in his head.

"Also, you won't have to get up whenever I have a nightmare. In fact, maybe I will not have nightmares at all, because when one comes I'll just hold you tight."

"Is that what you want, House?"

"Certainly! It's obvious if you think: a couch is a couch. It's for sitting, not for sleeping. I'm so happy to be at home."


	5. Daily Life

**Author's note**: Many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, **coconut_ice22**.

* * *

**Chapter 5 - Daily Life**

It was 9am when the alarm went off. Wilson didn't need an alarm; he had been up since 7am, had showered, dressed, and cooked breakfast: bacon and eggs like every Wednesday. House liked routine. When the alarm rang, Wilson put down on the table his half-drunk coffee cup, near the freshly delivered baguette and the laptop with the day's news. He made it to the bedroom door in time to see two fists vigorously scratching sleep-filled eyes, while a well-known voice shouted "Good morning, Jimmy!".

He helped House gulp down his morning pills with a glass of water, and then walk to the bathroom. He could now do a lot alone, so Wilson waited outside the door until called. He listened and was happy to hear the sound of flushing followed by hand washing. Then the shower went on, and he could imagine House undressing and stepping in. The call came soon after. "Jimmy? Can you help me wash my hair?" He went in and helped. At the beginning he had felt weird about House's total lack of shame towards him, both about his nakedness in general and the ugly scar on the thigh in particular. But now this was slowly becoming routine.

Soon afterward they breakfasted together, House's cane leaning on the table near him. House ate all of his breakfast and almost half of Wilson's while drinking two large cups of sweet coffee with lots of milk. Wilson wondered at the gene constellation that allowed his friend to eat so much and keep such wonderful shape – he now knew his body well and there was no extra fat anywhere on it, despite his fiftieth birthday being so near. House went to brush his teeth, finish dressing and "shave" with the electrical contraption Wilson had bought him, which allowed him to keep a constant three days' stubble. Meanwhile Wilson reviewed their schedule, although he knew he didn't need to.

Every day had a slightly different rhythm: MWF at 11 House had physical therapy, TT also at 11 occupational therapy, TT at 3pm speech therapy, on alternate Fridays at 2.30 they met with the pain management consultant and Mondays at 3.30 they had joint psychotherapy. Wednesday at 3.30 it was separated psychotherapy, and Fridays from 4pm to bedtime was Jimmy-time, as House called it; one or more of the people he had learned to accept as friends picked House up and entertained him for several hours, giving Wilson the opportunity to do whatever he wanted or just relax. House had accepted this arrangement surprisingly easily, possibly because his therapist had explained that its main purpose was to keep Jimmy healthy and happy.

For the first couple of weeks Wilson had wondered how to fit such a busy schedule with his return to work, in the hope that he won his custody battle. His first thought was to give up his position as Head of Oncology and reduce his hours. Then he thought of going into private practice, and started enquiring about a group practice willing to allow him to work part-time. Then he stopped thinking about the issue at all, facing each day as it passed and ignoring the future.

They arrived in time to physical therapy, as they usually did. As Sophie dealt with House, Wilson sat quietly in a corner of the gym where his friend could see him, opened his daily planner, and started thinking. The custody audience would be in two weeks, and he pulled out the relevant to-do list. Stacy had found him an experienced lawyer willing to work on a very reduced fee, which he suspected meant that a number of people were chipping in to help.

He already had gotten both letters of support and agreements to testify by all relevant colleagues, plus all professionals currently treating House. Cuddy had even made him get letters from some members of the Board, testifying about the time when he had given up his job to save House's tenure during Vogler's time. And he had no worries about third-party experts' evaluation on House's well being: careful pain management meant his liver values were better than they had ever been since the infarction. Of course it helped that House no longer drank like a sponge.

Still, it was going to be a fight: juries tended to side with the blood family. On top of that, there were enough people willing to suspect a sexual motivation on his part, based on rumors that had been coursing the halls of PPTH since shortly after his own arrival there. Unfortunately, there was no way to prove conclusively that such an interest didn't exist. Wilson successfully chased away from his mind the question whether it did, and then PT ended and it was time to care for House again.

After a quick lunch at a nearby diner they went back home. House took his medications and then put on his iPod: it was time for his daily massage. While his hands worked, Wilson remembered how soon after their moving in together, he had called Brandy, the escort-masseuse. How she had cried and said she wanted to remember House as he was. Wilson had then realized that here was yet another person having deeper feelings for his friend than would be reasonable, and didn't press. Instead, he met with her in a downtown hotel during his Jimmy-time. Brandy had been willing to do for him what she used to do for House, giving precise explanations and showing him how to move his hands and fingers, alerting him to unspoken signals from House's body. He paid her handsomely, but refused what she described as "happy ending". House fell asleep, as he often did during the massage. Wilson woke him up in time for the psychotherapy session.

* * *

"So, how was it today with Carmen?"

"It's always weird to be with her. First of all, because you're not there. And she asks the strangest questions. Sometimes they're too difficult. And sometimes...sometimes it's like there's something I ought to remember, I'm close to remembering, but I just barely don't. It's annoying."

"It's her job. Did she bring you again to your office?"

"Yes. I recognized what I had seen all the other times. And I played with my ball and my PSP. I got many more levels than last time."

"How about the books?"

"They're so difficult. Full of big words I don't understand. And some are even in languages I don't know. Was all of that really mine?"

"Yes, it was. You were very smart. You still are, only different."

"Jimmy, there's one thing I think I actually remembered today. You know the office near mine, the one which is always closed and dark?"

"Yes, I know which one." His heart started racing. He hoped House didn't notice.

"On the door it says James Wilson MD, Head of Oncology. That is...you, isn't it? Why doesn't it say Jimmy?"

"James is my official name. Some people I'm close to call me Jimmy."

"But then, why do you call me House? Shouldn't you call me Greggy, or something?"

"You...you never wanted to. You wanted me to call you House, so I did and do."

"I wonder why. There's one more thing I don't understand, too. I can't go back to my office because I am sick and my memory is gone. What about you? Shouldn't you be in that office and work? You're not sick."

Luckily Wilson had just finished talking to his own therapist, or he might have been unable to answer calmly enough. "I am on vacation now. This way I can care for you better. And soon a decision will be taken by wise people as who should keep caring for you. I asked it to be me, but your parents also want to do it themselves."

"If they're wise they'll let me stay with you. I'm not worried. But how will you be able to go back to work? Who will be with me?"

"After the decision is taken I will have some vacation left. We'll think of something then. In the meantime, how about Chinese takeout? You can choose what DVD to watch tonight."

* * *

"Time for bed, House. Teeth brushing, pajamas, pee, and your medication is on the kitchen table."

"I'm ready now. Are you ready?"

"Yes. Do you want a story tonight?"

"No, I'm tired. Come here. You know I want to fall asleep in your arms."


	6. Custody

**Author's note**: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, **coconut_ice22**.

**Warning**: mention of past child abuse. You can avoid it and still follow the fic by scrolling down and reading just the end of the Chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 6 - Custody**

Wilson was nervous. He tried to convince himself that he felt weird because, after many months of jeans, sweatpants and t-shirts, he was now wearing a suit and tie again, and he had even blow dried his hair as he used to do. House looked almost fake in his own suit; he had decided to skip the tie after four unsuccessful attempts to make his friend accept it. So far everything had gone well: most witnesses had been in his favor. And the medical assessment of House was really flattering, claiming that his mental recovery had progressed above expectations.

It was almost over: soon it would be his turn, then House's father's, and then they would view some taped version of House's declaration, since he had been declared fit only for questioning by a psychologist who had screened questions provided by both lawyers. House's mother was absent. Apparently she was sick. When he heard his name called he squeezed House's hand and walked slowly but with steady steps to the witness' stand.

"Dr. Wilson, why are you requesting custody of Gregory House?"

"Because I believe I am in the best position to help him regain health and happiness, at least as much as possible to him in the current situation."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"He is my best friend, and he has been for the last 16 years. He has always been there for me when I needed help. He obviously shared this viewpoint, since he explicitly requested that I be awarded custody."

"Can we assume that you didn't have undue ways to put him under pressure? We know there were problems with his Vicodin prescriptions last year."

"I was his physician because he trusted me. I prescribed him painkillers since he needed them to overcome his physical handicap. Lately he has led a less stressful life, so he can manage with a more varied pain management regimen."

"Is it true that you considered him responsible for the death of your girlfriend, Dr. Amber Volakis?"

"In my immediate grief I certainly regretted that she had offered to join him on the bus of the accident, thus eventually losing her life. But he cannot in any logical sense be held responsible. It was a series of unfortunate events that brought her to an untimely death."

"Is it true that you forced him to undergo deep brain stimulation in the hope of his remembering something that could save Volakis' life?"

"No, I didn't force him. However, I did ask him to. And he agreed. The documents at this court's disposal show how deeply aware he was of the risk involved." He knew this question would be asked. He remained upright. But he felt his skin become pale, and his lips quiver. He knew House was listening, straining to understand.

"Why did you ask him, if it was so dangerous and he was such a close friend?"

"I thought if he did it, they would both survive unharmed. I was doubly wrong."

"How long have you been sexually attracted by Gregory House?"

His lawyer jumped up. "Objection, your Honor!"

"Let me rephrase the question. Do you now, or did you in the past, experience sexual attraction towards Gregory House?"

He felt naked. Felt like the day when his father found him with his friend whom he was supposed to help with his chemistry homework. He remembered the shouts, the tears, the sound of the belt. He fought back: he was prepared, he wouldn't fail. "I am bisexual and I do and did notice that Gregory House is a handsome, attractive man. However, he never showed any interest in me physically, and I would have found it disrespectful to even allow myself to think about him in this sense. Even though so much about him as changed, my attitude of respect hasn't."

Whispers went through the room as a wind. He wondered whether saying the truth had been such a brilliant idea after all. But he knew that he didn't want to lie, not when House was present and listening, however much or however little he might understand.

"You said you are bisexual, however, you were never open about this. How come you are saying this now?"

"I think my sexual orientation is private, but I understand that in such a case it may be considered relevant."

"Is it true that you have profited of your position of power in the hospital to force nurses to have sex with you?"

"I have had consensual physical relationships with hospital personnel in the past, but never with anyone in my own Department or over whom I had any power or control. Otherwise I would have filed corresponding paperwork at HR, following the hospital's guidelines."

"So you are sure that your request for custody does not stem from a desire to take advantage sexually of Dr. House's impaired mental status, as you took advantage of the nurses' lower power status?"

"Objection!"

"Question retreated."

He was relieved to see that he could leave the witness' stand.

House's father's interrogation he basically missed, so concentrated he was on calming himself down. He heard how his lawyer brought his friend's father to describe some of the "educational" methods he had used in the past, and express his scorn for his son's choice of career and failed life.

Then someone entered, and gave a note to the judge. He read it, and motioned everyone to sit down. "Mrs House is absent for medical reasons. She requested the possibility of having a registered declaration by her heard, and I have granted her request."

A screen went on, and Blythe's face filled it. She had a small sheet of paper in front, and was reading it without looking at the camera. "Your honor, John, James, my dear Greg, my cardiologist has said I can't be present today without risking my health. I hope I will be allowed to state my opinion in this matter. I love my son; I was a homemaker, and took good care of him as he was growing up. And now that he needs help again, my heart's desire is that I be the one to provide him."

The woman on the screen closed the sheet of paper. Tear-filled blue eyes stared at the onlookers. "But I'm 73. I have heart problems. My husband is 80, and has prostate cancer. How long and how well could we really care for Greg? It is therefore my opinion that my son's interests would be best served if his custody is given to his friend James Wilson, as Greg himself requested when still able to think for himself."

Wilson felt like his heart had stopped. John House was shouting, and his lawyer was trying to calm him down before the judge would order him out of the room. Everybody present seemed to be talking to everyone else. He remembered his own short conversation with Blythe three days earlier, his statement "I'll care for him, hopefully, into his old age." His assurance that he would devote himself to House entirely. He hadn't needed to say that in his final declaration: the Jury had a copy of his severance contract, already signed and valid under the proviso that custody be granted. But she had believed him, apparently, without seeing any document, just by looking into him with her eyes so similar to her son's.

The screen went on again, and this time, there was House's face on it. The real person, sitting near him, seemed almost frightened, and kept his eyes on his own lap. "My name is Gregory House. This I can remember. I cannot remember very much else. I know I cannot live on my own; I have forgotten too much for that. I do remember from before my accident that Jimmy, that is James Wilson, is my friend. I can remember that he cares for me and wants my happiness. And even if I couldn't remember, I would know now, as he has been caring for me every day since I left the hospital. He is always with me, and I trust him. I want to stay with him forever."

* * *

The Jury retired, and everybody left the room. He immediately steered House to a comfortable corner, where two nurses had been strategically occupying a chair and a comfortable armchair, waiting for them; this way House could sit down and rest his leg, putting his right ankle on a pillow on Wilson's knee. The nurses also had food, drink, House's medication and his PSP; everything Wilson had prepared.

"Thank you very much Doris, Jenny." Each of them hugged him in turn, tears in their eyes.

"Oncology is no longer the same without you."

"And today Cuddy leaked out news of your severance agreement. Oncology will definitely never be the same again. We will miss you Dr. Wilson."

"It's a bit early to say, isn't it? The Jury is still out."

"We are all sure that you are not coming back. We're sad, but we know this is what you choose."

"A choice we admire. Even if it is against our interest."

They sat there together, drank tea, ate chocolate chip cookies, and remembered long forgotten anecdotes. Until the gong sounded. "Remember Dr. Wilson, we're the only two on leave today, but the whole Department is with you right now!"

* * *

When they were back in the room, they stood as the Jury entered. Their President handed a sheet of paper to the Judge, who started reading a number of legal formulas. And then the booming voice was making a simple, clear statement "Custody of Gregory House is therefore permanently granted to Dr. James Evan Wilson."

He turned around and hugged House tightly. Then he looked at him and said "And now I'll be with you forever, as you wanted," all his thoughts lost in House's impossibly large smile.


	7. Unexpected Difficulties

Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

* * *

**Chapter 7 - Unexpected Difficulties**

House was sleeping, and Wilson was computing. He had spent his Jimmy-time the day before with his lawyer and an accountant, and he was now trying to figure out which expenses he would have to cut so that he and House could live from the money they had, with neither of them working. House had an invalidity pension from PPTH, which covered more or less the healthcare costs, with some leftovers. He himself had worked too little for a pension, so he had gotten a lump sum instead, which he had invested in the most trustworthy securities his accountant could find. In House's name.

House's office and home had been left untouched. Wilson had sold a lot of what he had in storage; he had gotten rid of most of his expensive clothes, and bought cheaper stuff for everyday use, things that didn't need ironing or dry cleaning services. He still hired a maid for cleaning but only once a week. He bought seasonal vegetables and had even started growing some in the back garden; he cooked a lot from scratch and tried to make them both eat healthy. To keep fit as long as possible despite his family's penchant for obesity, diabetes and heart problems, he bought weights and a yoga mat and exercised at home on a regular basis, and went running almost every morning. Running round the block that is, so that if House woke up early and needed him it was enough to call him on his cellphone and he could be home within five minutes. Months of effort were finally paying off and he was as physically fit as he'd been ten years before.

Still, he thought, closing and putting away the accounting books as he noticed it was now time to start the pancakes, no way would he have made it without his friends' pledge. They were all putting money monthly in a Gregory House trust fund. "I'm a really lucky man" he thought, and started laughing by himself at the crazy idea, all the while flipping pancakes before they burned.

* * *

"I love pancakes."

"I believe that. Is that number nine or ten?"

"I think eleven. Can we go to the library today? They read Pippi Longstocking aloud at 11."

"But you can read it yourself, can't you?"

"Yes, but I like it better when someone reads to me. And the guy they have at the library is so good."

"You're right, we'll go. But I want you to get dressed on your own and to come with me to the farmer's market afterward."

"Not more than fifteen minutes."

"One hour."

"Thirty minutes."

"Deal." Sometimes it was almost painful how much the new House was like the old one.

* * *

When they entered the children's lecture room there were some loud whispers. Wilson scanned the room as he helped House sit down on the floor and put a pillow below his right knee. Two new mothers. He could have done without that.

"Jimmy, did you see her? She went to the complaint booth." The reading had reached a pause and twelve children and House were eating cookies and drinking juice boxes. "I think she's complaining about me."

"Don't worry. You remember when you did your morning therapy alone for three times in a row? I got all the permits and now you have the same rights as all those children to sit here and listen to a story. Did you like it so far?"

"It's beautiful. A bit like me, because she lives without her parents. But also very different, because she's female and small and can already look after herself, while I'm a grownup man and still need you."

"Hush now, the reading is about to start again."


	8. Speaking Of Amber

Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

**

* * *

Chapter 8 - Speaking of Amber**

"I think this tastes healthy." House sulked looking at his dish.

"You need to have vegetables, too. And when you finish that I've baked chocolate chip cookies."

"Jimmy, I have been thinking about what was said the day we went to the tribunal. Who is Amber?" House had lost most of his memory before the DBS; his memory of subsequent events, however, was excellent, and as he noticed that his mental faculties were growing stronger, he often revisited past events, trying to make sense of what he hadn't at first understood.

"Amber was my girlfriend. She was a doctor, like you. She had even worked for you at a time."

"And you lived with her?"

"Yes. I lived at her place."

"You loved her?"

"I think I did. I thought so. I can't remember her so well anymore."

"So who lived with me?"

"Nobody. You lived alone. We had been staying at each other's place occasionally in the past, and you had been living with your girlfriend for a while, but that was long ago."

"Is it true what they said then? That you made me hurt myself for her sake?"

Wilson's appetite was completely gone. He looked at his dish and all he wanted was empty his stomach. And never eat again. For a short moment he wished he had let House's parents take care of him. Only for a moment.

"We were very good friends. You knew how important she was to me. And you were sure you knew something important was wrong with her, and you had forgotten because you had banged your head in the bus accident. So you figured out that if we managed to bang your head again, maybe the memory would reappear. But of course it was dangerous. You can see what effects it had on you."

"Why did you make me do it then?"

"Because I loved her so much, and she was dying, and I didn't want her to die. And because I thought you could survive anything. I didn't ever seriously worry you could die, and I didn't ask any expert for an opinion. You told me you could die, but I didn't listen. I didn't want to listen. I just wanted her to live. And then you figured out what she had, but it was too late to save her. She died in my arms."

"What does dying mean?"

"It's something that happens to people, usually when they're old. It's like falling asleep, but they never wake up."

"So she was like me. She wanted to fall asleep in your arms. I can understand that. I hope I can die in your arms, too." House's face was suddenly worried. "Jimmy, what's wrong? Why are you crying? Look, I've eaten the whole salad, don't be angry."

Wilson couldn't stop crying. He couldn't look at House. He couldn't think. He couldn't speak.

"Get up, Jimmy. You look like me when I have a bad dream. Come to the couch and I'll hug you and you'll be better."

Wilson reacted mechanically, and did what his friend told him, as he used to do when his friend always knew better. And sitting near House, his head on his shoulder, arms around each other's upper bodies, he slowly felt better.

"I know you didn't want to hurt me, Jimmy. And I understand I knew what I was doing. And I made it clear I wanted to stay with you. So all is well. Don't cry Jimmy. Nothing is wrong."

And strangely, perversely, Wilson's heartbeat calmed down and his tears dried out. He felt protected, forgiven, at peace. He hated himself for that. He knew this was wrong. His friend had forgiven him only because he couldn't really understand how terrible what he had done was.

* * *

Being without House always felt strange, and it felt strangest during psychotherapy.

"How was last week, James?"

"Difficult, Dr. Goldstein. House remembered some of the things he heard at the custody trial, and he asked me, and I just...lost control. I cried and cried, until House moved me to the couch and calmed me down with a hug." Wilson sniffed. "And I'm supposed to be the responsible grownup." At the therapist's request, Wilson repeated as best he could what had been said.

"It seems House's brain is getting better fast. The neurologists told me he is recovering much more than expected. They want to run more tests soon. So it's reasonable he would want to ask more questions."

"Yes. Once he understands what I did to him he'll want me to move out, I guess. It's all my fault."

"Why are you so negative? He seems to have understood enough, and he still wants you. Are you staying with him out of guilt, or because you want to?"

The question hurt Wilson somewhere very deep inside. He gasped. And thought. And then, scared, he managed to answer in a sort of whisper. "I would want to help him and be there for him no matter what. Had Amber still been alive, I think I would have left her and devoted myself to House. He has been for years the most important person in my life. Only he didn't need me so much before...before..."

"Did you have to press House to get the DBS?"

"No, I just asked. He asked me back whether I wanted him to risk his life, and I said...I said..." Wilson didn't sob, but tears started running fast down his cheeks. "I said yes." The last word falls out of his mouth heavily, as if he were regurgitating a stone.

"It was his informed choice. He just wanted to make sure that Amber was important for you. And he spent his last hour of full use of his brain protecting himself, the hospital and you from the possible consequences of that choice. He knew what he was doing, and you have to respect that. If you take the guilt, you are taking away his freedom. The generosity of his gift."

"You're right, of course, still, if I could go back in time..."

"You wouldn't ask him to, nor allow him; and Amber wouldn't follow House on the bus, and House would call a cab. But you can't go back in time. All you can change is the future." He pushed the box of tissues across the desk. "Should we talk about something less emotional in the last ten minutes, so House doesn't see you so red-eyed?"

"I have a technical question. House is sometimes sexually aroused. For instance when I give him a massage for his leg, or in the morning, or when we're close together on the couch. What should I do?"

"This is a very delicate issue, and there's no general rule. Although his mind is like a child's, his body has adult needs, and sexual activity would be both pleasurable and healthy for him." The therapist stopped and thought. "I've discussed this already with House's therapist. We think that he can express what he likes and dislikes. In principle he has a right to this, but it might be hard to find an appropriate... professional."

Wilson thought about this. He remembered Brandy's tears. And his own statement in front of the tribunal, which had been reported in the press. As a result, his father had had his lawyer send him a letter to inform him that he was no longer mentioned in his parents' will, and that they wished he wouldn't get in touch with them again. His words were slow but secure.

"I don't hire others to take care of his needs, if I can."

"Sharing such an intimate activity with a loved one is the best for him, like for anyone else. On the other hand, you are in a very special position towards him as his guardian, so there are clear limits to what you can and cannot do, limits that wouldn't apply to others. So long as he depends from you for most of his everyday needs, he's not really free to decide whether he loves you in the usual sense or not. I can give you some reference literature." The therapist knew his feelings for House, and may have been expecting such a question, since he had a pile of papers ready to give Wilson. As he exited the office, he felt that the extra weight in his backpack corresponded to a lesser weight on his heart.


	9. Birds And Bees

Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

* * *

**Chapter 9 - Birds And Bees**

It was 2 pm, and Wilson had just finished tidying up the kitchen while House had taken a nap. His sleep had been bothered the previous night by a very loud thunderstorm, and now it was raining like buckets again. Speech therapy had been dialed down to once a week, so they had no need to go anywhere. He looked forward towards relaxing briefly on the couch, and possibly starting to plan some vacations soon, maybe a long weekend. But then he heard himself being called.

"What's wrong, House? Another nightmare? I'm here with you."

"Not quite. Can you climb in bed with me, please? I need to hug you."

Wilson took off his trousers and sweatshirt before he slipped under the warm down comforter. He let his right arm slide below House's neck, and placed his left hand against his chest. He could feel the heart beating fast, although not dangerously so. "So, what happened? You said it wasn't a nightmare, and yet you're frightened."

"You know that sometimes I have...strange dreams, which I can barely remember. And when I wake up I'm all wet and sticky in my pants. And more often, my penis just grows and gets hard...and bothers me. Like now."

"Well, it is the way it is many mornings. If you have a shower it will go away."

"I know. You see, last time I didn't quite forget the dream. I dreamt that my penis grew and grew and...kind of exploded, and it wasn't painful but pleasurable. I would like it...to be real. Except, I don't know how. Just remembering the dream made my heart a bit faster."

This was precisely the kind of opening the therapist had told him to wait for. "You see, this happens to all grown up men. And there is something one can do to feel better. I'll try and do it for you, and you can stop me if it feels wrong or for any other reason why. Should we try?"

House just nodded. Wilson slowly removed his friend's pajama pants and boxers. With his left hand, he started caressing House's chest below the pajama top, going deeper and deeper every time until his finger made contact with the penis' tip. He bent forward slightly, and started kissing his neck delicately, with closed lips, while his hand kept moving up and down the shaft, making detours around the testicles, across the perineum, and going back to the shaft. His right hand felt his friend's right wrist; he could feel House's heart beating faster and faster.

"How does this feel? Is there something you want me or not want me to do?"

"I...I am not sure. It feels very good, and yet almost painfully so. And it feels like I'm losing control of my body. Like I have to pee or something."

"It's just something else you forgot. For now, keep your eyes closed and try not to think. Concentrate on what you feel." He was now using his left hand much as he usually did on his own body (it seemed a bit strange not to feel what he was doing), while his friend held on tight to his right one. House started breathing faster and faster, until it all was over without much warning. He panted a while, slowly caught his breath and then opened his eyes.

"That...felt so good, better than the dream." He looked worried. "What happened? What's all that white stuff?"

"The white stuff is semen. It is produced in your testicles, and got expelled by the tip of your penis." Wilson's fingers where delicately accompanying the verbal explanation. "This is called ejaculating. You ejaculated because you had an orgasm, which means your body received so much physical pleasure that...well, that it was enough pleasure for a while."

"Is this bad for my health?"

"No, it isn't. It's good. Most grownups do this, either on their own or with someone else. Most people think it's better with someone else. There are also other things one can try. And...it's usually considered right to do it with someone you care for. The way we just did. It is an expression of," he barely paused, "of love."

"It felt...strange. And now it feels sticky."

"I'll clean you up, I have some wet tissues. And you can decide whether you want to try and do this on your own, for instance in the bath, or if you want to ask me again."

"Did we ever do this before?"

"Yes and no. Yes, in the sense that you did this on your own and with others ever since you were a teenager. This is called sex, more often masturbation when you are alone, and making love when you do it with someone you care for. But you never did it with me before."

"Why? You didn't want to?"

"No, I think I did want to. But...it's a topic people can find embarrassing. Usually it is not done between two men or two women, but instead between one of each gender – although, exceptions are not that rare. But you never asked me, and I was too shy to ask you. So I don't know what you would have said."

"This is weird." House yawned, as Wilson finished the clean-up. "But fun. I think I'll nap another little bit. Can you stay near me?"

House started snoring very fast, but Wilson staid awake. For one thing, his own body was now stirred very alert. But more than that, he was worried at what he had done. And what he said. The doing...he had done everything according to the book. He had let House introduce the topic, had been gentle, and totally ignored his own needs, focusing on his friend's pleasure. That had been easy, in a way. But what he said. He hadn't prepared that. He hadn't discussed it with his therapist, although he certainly would next time. Then he laughed at himself, thinking he must be crazy. He wasn't worried at having sex with his mentally handicapped, previously straight friend, but he was upset about telling said friend that he loved him? He was still thinking about what he should do in the future when House woke up thirty minutes later and declared he needed a shower.


	10. Sex vs Love

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.

* * *

**Chapter 10 - Sex vs Love**

Since they were stuck at home anyway due to the bad weather, Wilson prepared a somewhat more elaborate dinner. Luckily when his family had cut contact his mother hadn't asked for her old recipes back, so he was now preparing his mother's chicken soup. House sat on the couch and played with the PSP, before using up some more energy on the workbench. He too was now as fit as he could be, considering his thigh injury.

They enjoyed a long and pleasant dinner, and they even shared one bottle of beer. Wilson then cleaned up while House watched TV on the couch. But when he joined him, his friend used the remote to switch the TV off.

"Jimmy, I have some questions. Questions about sex."

"I'll answer as well as I can. You can also ask your therapist."

"Why are you embarrassed about this? Why are people embarrassed at all? It seems all very natural to me."

"Historically sex has a very special meaning. Each society has its own very precise rules about who is allowed to have sex with whom and when. Many societies even regulated masturbation, usually by forbidding it." Wilson was sweating. He wasn't sure what he was going to say. "As I told you, what we did is one way, in a sense the simplest. There are more, and different people find different ways pleasant. And a very popular way of having sex between a man and a woman is the way babies start developing."

"And I knew all this...before?"

"Yes. And you had sex with your girlfriend. Do you remember Stacy? Now she's married to Mark and has a daughter. Most likely she and Mark have done it, too. And I did it with my wives, and then with Amber." Wilson thought that adultery was a too advanced concept. "If you have sex to express love, it is usual that you only do it with that person. At least, as long as the love lasts."

"So, how come neither of us has children? We both had sex with women."

"There are ways to have sex while preventing babies from happening. They're called contraceptives. Neither of us wanted children." Wilson felt an addition was necessary. "Also, having sex is a very close form of body contact, so it can lead to disease dissemination. There are ways to prevent that, as well."

"So, let's see if I understand. I made...love to Stacy when she was my girlfriend, because I loved her. And you did the same with your wives, and then with Amber, for the same reason. And today you did it with me because you now love me. Is this right?" House looked directly in his face, the slightly anxious eyes of a pupil who's not sure he has understood the lecture properly.

"Almost right. I did it today because the therapist said I could. He said it would be good for you, and you would be healthy enough in your head to consent."

"Consent?"

"Agree. Approve. Say yes."

"So, we didn't really make love. Just had sex."

Wilson turned beet red. "Usually one assumes that full brain functionality is needed to be in love. I don't know if this is true. The therapist doesn't know, either. But he said that sex would be good for you, and that I could help you."

"In other words, we had sex but didn't make love because I'm too stupid to love. Or to be loved. Or both." House closed his eyes, pulled up his left knee, and bent his forehead on it. Wilson knew the position: it was his way of closing out whatever was giving him pain. In this position House couldn't see the outside world. It was as close to curled up into a ball as his leg would allow.

Which is why he was taken completely by surprise when Wilson threw his arms around him and started crying desperately, muttering incomprehensible words, and soaking his shirt at the height of his left collarbone. House had seen this happen twice before. Once about Amber, and once when the letter from the lawyer of Jimmy's father had arrived. It had taken long for Jimmy to calm down, and longer to explain precisely what had happened. The why was never properly explained, at least not in a way House could make sense of. He knew what to do: he just hugged Jimmy himself, made sure he could hear the beating of his heart, and waited for the sobbing to stop.

Soon he could feel the tension slowly abating. And finally sentences came up. "I'm so sorry, House. I explained this all wrong. Forget what I said. There is one person here who has trouble understanding what it means to love, and that person is me. I married three women, and I was never really in love with any of them. I thought I was in love with a number of other women, and it never was true. I ignored my responsibilities as a doctor, and pretended to be in love with a dying patient. I wouldn't recognize love if it hit me on the head with a stick. I'm not even sure that I ever loved Amber. And I never dared telling you about my feelings...before. Because I was a coward. And my respectability was worth more to me than my love." Wilson took a long breath, than resumed speaking.

"I might be able to talk about love at some point, but not now, and I think you still need time too. But in the meantime, there is still sex, and it would be pleasant and healthy for you and…and…it might give me a chance to figure out whether I love you or not. That's unfortunately all that I can offer you right now, but at least I'm sincere."

"You said we need time. How much time?"

Wilson smiled. Count on House to take the most theoretical statements and anchor them down to reality. The guy sounded more and more like himself. "How about six months?"

"Sounds good. I'll go mark it on the calendar. And in the meantime, can we still have sex?"

"Yes. As recommended by the doctor."

* * *

House kept his part of the agreement, and love was not mentioned anymore. On the other hand, he asked for sex almost every evening, so much so that Wilson moved the evening reading time to after lunch. After trying everything in the scant menu the therapist had suggested, they developed a sort of bedtime routine, which helped House easily fall asleep for long, uninterrupted nights. Wilson started by caressing him, went on to rubbing, then to sucking while his hands researched the most sensitive spots of House's body, and finished with swallowing and licking House clean. Then he briefly wiped him with a cloth and went for a fast shower, coming back in time for House to fall asleep in his arms. During the shower Wilson's left hand often brought his body to rest in a few swift strokes, and sometimes chased away a few burning tears.


	11. Guess Who's Coming To Brunch

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.

* * *

**Chapter 11 - Guess Who's Coming To Brunch**

"Hi James. Apparently sex is working very well. House's therapist is very positive about it, and so is his general practitioner. He has decreased painkiller use, sleeps better, even his blood pressure has improved."

"It's good to know it's useful. Because it's killing me inside. I don't know how much longer I can do this."

"What is the problem? I thought you found him attractive?"

"I did, and still do. But...what I have makes me miss so much what I could have had. I never realized how much I was attracted to House. I positively tried to ignore it, frightened as I was of losing his friendship. I got myself a series of wives, girlfriends, and random dates, and I tried to help him date Cameron and Stacy. I would have helped him date Cuddy if I could have. Why was I so stupid? Why didn't I even try to have a love relationship with him...when it was still possible?"

"Looking back at the past is useful if we learn from it, but it can't be changed. What we can change is the future. What is it you want?"

"I want House to be healthy enough that he can actually love me. That we can have real, grownup sex if this is what we want, not this sanitized version that seems just a deviated form of physical therapy. This...this is destroying me."

"House's brain has improved more than we would ever had thought possible. Maybe he would be able to love you the way you want. Maybe you should ask him. You should have asked him before, but since you haven't and he's not dead you can ask him now."

"This doesn't make sense. House hardly ever sees a human being who is not me, except for the therapists. How can he understand love? I'm his whole life!"

"This is an important point, and one in which I had thought outside intervention was necessary. I'm glad you got to it yourself. It will make everything easier."

"What are you talking about?"

"You will know soon. Just don't make plans for next Sunday."

* * *

House was playing with his PSP, not noticing the fact that the apartment had been thoroughly cleaned and put in order, and that all the small objects usually covering every available surface had vanished. The doorbell rang, and a nervous Wilson opened the door without asking who it was. Foreman, Taub, Chase, Cameron, Kutner and Thirteen walked in, followed by Cuddy. Everybody was carrying food; Chase helped Wilson prepare the table, putting in the fridge what needed to stay cold and warming up what had been waiting too long. Soon they were having a pleasant brunch together.

House seemed more relaxed than expected, possibly because he was by now familiar with each of the people present, even though it was probably the first time he had had so much company at the same time. He sat near Wilson and occasionally sneaked his left hand under the table to touch him on the thigh for reassurance, which always was followed by Wilson squeezing back with his own right hand. Conversation remained light, concentrating mostly on hospital gossip on one side and House's progress on the other. Wilson had gotten used to Brown being Head of Oncology and Chase and Foreman sharing the guidance of Diagnostics (in the moment both of them where officially Vice Head). It used to hurt, but now his time at PPTH was a rapidly sinking memory.

With the table cleared except for the freshly brewed coffee, Wilson excused himself: House was tired. He needed his painkiller and a short nap.


	12. Special Offers

Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

* * *

**Chapter 12 - Special Offers**

When he returned to the living room twenty minutes later the air in the room felt different. Cuddy's eyes looked sharp, and they were concentrating on him.

"So far I was here as a friend. Now I'm talking in my capacity of Dean of Medicine. I have a proposal for you."

"I'm not interested. I have no spare time."

"It's Sunday today and your main occupation is currently sleeping, so you can at least listen for a while." When Wilson nodded, she poured herself another cup of coffee and went on talking. "I have been speaking to your psychotherapist and House's. I have also had two neurologist evaluate him during his last sessions."

"I haven't yet gotten their report."

"I did. They're all amazed by how well he's doing. He recovered much more than expected, and his general health is better than...before. The latter can no doubt be explained by diminished Vicodin and alcohol consumption; the former, apparently, seemed connected with him staying in his own apartment and with you, the one person he can remember."

"Glad to be useful."

"Recently, however, the mental recovery has reached a plateau, although at a higher level than could have been expected. So the neurologists have come up with a plan: bringing House back to his job at PPTH."

"This is insane."

"No, it isn't. We've worked it all out. He can have his usual office and sit there every day 9–1. He can play with his ball, his PSP, his computer, lie on the armchair, and when there's a case he gets to stand with the others near the whiteboard and write down symptoms. He can then listen to what the others are saying, and write whatever else takes his fancy. They think there's a small hope that...some of his technical memory might come back. He can write again, can't he?"

"Yes, he can. The same large, legible handwriting he had before. I...I don't know. If the neurologists say so, I'm willing to give it a try. What are the odds?"

"Low. But they think better than if he just stays home, and they can't imagine any negative effect."

"And we all agreed to help him through. We're happy to have him back, whatever he does, including nothing but playing PSP and watching porn." Chase is speaking, but nodding faces around the table show this decision has been approved by all.

"Well, if he can manage to also insult you he will be back to his old self entirely, I guess. I'm just uncomfortable leaving him alone there for so many hours, although I'm sure any of the others would be as good as me in giving him his meds on time."

"What you heard is just half of the proposal. The other half is that you come back and work as guest oncologist with the same timetable. You get your old office back–Brown didn't want it anyway, too far away from the ward. This way whenever House needs you for whatever reason, you're just...there." Cuddy blushes slightly. "All neurologists and therapists said that House could not possibly relax and progress unless he knew you were close at hand."

"And...what does a guest oncologist do?"

"You work with whoever needs a hand. Double check difficult diagnoses. Help plan alternative treatment protocols. More importantly, you talk with the patients. The mortality rate has gone up under Brown's tenure, and the main reason is that the patients are much less cooperative. Some just refuse treatment, even palliative care. He may be technically as good as you, but so are many other oncologists elsewhere; what kept our Department above others was your empathy."

"You want me to come back to help tell people they'll die, because I'm good at that?"

"Yes. Luckily your board certification hasn't expired yet. You'll be paid a pittance, and House won't be paid at all. But the doctors think he could improve a lot. They suggested giving it a try for at least some months."

"What about his physical therapy?"

"We have spoken with every single person who cares for House's physical well-being. After reading the neurologists' panel's report, they all agreed to rescheduling, in order to give him this chance. And all members of the Diagnostics team have agreed to make sure House is never alone."

"We actually get a discount on the clinic hours when we babysit him," added Chase with a smile.

Cuddy smiled. "Consider that my own way of paying House. So, James, what do you think?"

"I am deeply thankful, to all of you. I need time to think. And I want to talk about this with House."

"Of course. Here," she pulled out a thick folder and she passed it to him across the table "is the neurologists' report with their recommendations. Maybe we can have dinner together next week and talk about it. It could be arranged very fast, I already have the necessary authorizations. And..."

The slow steps of a person walking with a cane interrupted her. "Jimmy? When are they going away? It's nice to have friends but they woke me up and now I want to cuddle for a bit."

Wilson turned deeply red, and the others averted their eyes, feeling ashamed at witnessing such a private moment among them. Foreman said quickly "I think we'll be going now. Do you need one of us to stay back and help you clean up?"

"No, thank you. House can help. Thanks for the food, the company and...the opportunity. I'll think of it."


	13. Discussing The Offers

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.

* * *

**Chapter 13 - Discussing The Offers**

When the door closed, House hugged Wilson. "And now come back to bed with me, Jimmy, I heard some weird things, or maybe I dreamed them, and I am confused and I need you."

* * *

Wilson stripped down to t-shirt and briefs and climbed into bed near House.

"Can you hold me tight?"

"Sure, if you want me to. Why didn't you come out of the bedroom earlier? There was no secret."

"That can't be true. Why should the topic have changed precisely when I went for my nap? I thought I wasn't supposed to hear. I thought...they want you back at work, right? You should go. I can take care of myself. A bit. I can wait."

"I think you misunderstood. It is mostly you that they want back to work."

"Me? How can I work? I can't remember anything!"

"Did you remember that there were some extra doctors with your psychotherapist last time?"

"Yes, of course. They didn't do much. Just sat there, and occasionally asked questions. Mostly to Carmen, not to me."

"They were neurologists. Head doctors. They think your head would work better if your life was more similar to what it was before. So they want you to spend some time in your office."

"What will I do there?"

"As much as possible of what you did before. Play with your PSP, your ball and your computer. Be bored. Watch TV. Write on the whiteboard. You'll like it. And there will be Foreman, and Chase, and Taub, and Thirteen, and Kutner. All together, or a few at a time. They'll tell you what to write if you can't think of anything."

"But I heard they want you back to work, because...because you're good to dying people. Am I dying? Is this why you care for me?"

"No, you're not dying. You're getting better. And I will go back to my work a little bit, but this is only so I can be near you. My office is next door to yours. You can even bang on the wall with your cane if you don't feel like shouting, and I'll be with you in minutes. They removed all parts of my work that involve leaving my office."

House had stopped sobbing. Which was strange, because Wilson couldn't remember him starting.

"I will have a short-term contract; the moment you don't want to be there anymore, I'll also be out."

"What do you want to do? Do you want to go back to work? Do you like your work?"

"I liked it well enough, although it sometimes made me sad. But mostly what I want now is for you to get better. And apparently the experts think that going back will make you get better. I would like to try, but only if you agree."

"I would like to get better, but I'm scared. What if nothing happens? What if they make fun of me? What if you find out that you really like your job and want to stop taking care of me?"

"I don't know what to answer to the first two questions, but the latter one is very easy. How ever much I may like my job or anything else, I care for you most." And then Wilson couldn't hold himself anymore. His arms tightened the hug around a shivering House, and his lips found another pair of lips among hairy stubble. The kiss started chaste, but then House opened his mouth a little bit to breath, and Wilson pushed his tongue in.

House was surprised, but slowly got used to the strange sensation. And soon he was reciprocating, holding his Jimmy even tighter than he was being held. His tongue learning the shape of the mouth whose voice had accompanied him through all he could remember of his life. Their legs intertwined, and House didn't know nor care who started it. He could also feel his own penis being hard against Wilson's and that was also a very new sensation. Like sex but at the same time different. Deeper. Better. Finally after an immeasurable amount of time, they both came up for air.

"What was that?"

Wilson looked happy and sad at the same time.

"I love you, House."


	14. The Whiteboard

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.

* * *

**Chapter 14 - The Whiteboard**

Once House was sound asleep that evening, Wilson sneaked out of the bed and started reading the panel's report. He was impressed at the names who signed it; Cuddy had collected some kind of who's who of US Neurology to care for her former star diagnostician. A lot of effort and money with very little perspective of a profit for PPTH. Cuddy really had a soft spot in her heart for House, he thought briefly. Then he immersed himself in the document in front of his eyes.

Several hours and cups of coffee later he felt he knew it almost by heart. His head was slightly aching, and it was time to go to bed. But still, he couldn't sleep, and it wasn't for the coffee. The report was full of possibilities. Of hope. House could start improving again. He might even, to a very limited extent of course, go back to doing his work. They even mentioned the possibility of his recovering so much that he would be declared a responsible adult again, thus terminating the need for a legal guardian. Of course it was all a matter of chance, and altogether not very likely. Still, hope was good. Wilson knew they would accept the proposal. He started planning how to get back in touch with the newest oncology literature, before deciding this could be done much better during daytime.

But a deeper anguish ambushed him the moment he felt ready to let go of the day's worries and start sleeping. What had he done? He had kissed House. This was explicitly forbidden in the instructions he had received. The word love was also taboo. He knew it and had accepted it. And although he knew the rules were for House's sake, he had been unable to resist. Sure, his friend had liked it. But how valid could his consent be?

The final thought which enabled him to fall asleep was that, if this method worked and House's technical knowledge finally came back, his friend would finally be able to understand that his terrible loss was the result of Wilson's selfishness. He was sure this would mean the end of House's affection for him, and hoped that by then he could have formed new ones.

* * *

"Hurry up! We can't be late the first day!"

"Can't we? Why? Someone desperately needs to know they're dying?"

"More or less. I have my first patient at 9.30."

"Don't worry, I'm ready."

* * *

"Good morning, everybody. House, you sit here unless they tell you they need your help with the whiteboard. You have computer and PSP. And this is...your ball."

"I sat in my office and played with a ball? Do other doctors do that?"

"No, they don't. But you never were like the other doctors. You also never wore a lab coat, while I usually did."

"You look good with it."

"I would look better if my suit would fit me properly. My body has completely changed shape since I stopped working, but I can't afford to buy new stuff now." Wilson's trousers were held up precariously by a belt, to which he had added several holes, while his jacket, while ample on the belly, was somewhat of a tight fit at chest level. His head, like House's, sported a simple crew cut, but he was carefully shaved.

"You can remember where my office is, can't you? I'll be in there all the time. At one I'll pick you up and we'll go have lunch together at the cafeteria. In the meantime, do what they tell you to do. Enjoy the whiteboard." Wilson waved goodbye and left.

* * *

"So, House, any questions to begin with?"

"What's a whiteboard?"

"This is a whiteboard. Your whiteboard. You can write on it with these pens and wipe it clean with this special eraser. Make sure you close the pens well because they dry quickly otherwise."

"Looks like fun. Is it really mine?"

"It's the Diagnostics' whiteboard, but we would like you to be the one to write on it."

"What should I write?"

"We'll tell you. Here's a case. It means someone is sick and they don't know why. The first thing you do is you write on the whiteboard everything which is wrong with them. We call these symptoms."

"I'll dictate for you. Fever. Leg rash. Low platelets."

"Did I spell platelets right?"

"Yes, you did. Do you remember what platelets are?"

"I'm not sure. I knew?"

"You did. Think. You must remember something, since you got the spelling right."

"It's something to do with...blood. Some things that float in the blood. And they have a purpose. They're there to make sure the blood stops flowing when there's a wound!" House was smiling, proud and at the same time worried that he had just invented this all. He didn't know how he knew. But he was almost sure he was right.

"Wonderful! The technical term is that platelets help blood to coagulate, but it's what you described. Welcome back, Dr. House."

* * *

"Let's go have lunch. How was your morning?"

"Great! I remembered the meaning of four different words: platelets, tachycardia, lupus, and moron!" House was gesticulating and smiling, and he didn't notice people staring at him on his way to the elevator and into the cafeteria. "It was great! I never had so much fun."

"That's good to hear. Do you want to order for yourself or should I just order for you the stuff you used to like?"

"Maybe you do it. At least today."

"A Caesar Salad without mayo, a Reuben sandwich without pickles, fat-free chips and large French fries, a diet Sprite and a root beer. For here. I'm paying for both."

"As usual, Dr. Wilson. Your table is free."

* * *

"So, how's your sandwich?"

"Good. Did you eat here so often that they can still remember your table?"

"Our table. We ate together almost everyday, and we sat here because it's a small table and we didn't want anyone else."

"And why would she expect you to pay? Was I poor?"

"No. You just liked me to pay for you. And so did I. It was one of your ways to make me feel important and useful." His brow clouded as he realized that this was the first time he admitted this, even to himself.


	15. Raising The Workload

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

Chapters: 20

* * *

**Chapter 15 - Raising The Workload**

"Dr. Goldstein, I made a terrible mistake this week. Actually, last week, but I was so ashamed I didn't dare telling you."

"What happened?"

"I...kissed House. With tongue. And I told him I loved him."

"Tell me what happened before this, any detail that might help me understand why you did this."

Wilson summarized the events. "...and he was shaking and in fear and...I don't know what came over me."

"What did House say?"

"Nothing. He calmed down and smiled and fell asleep. He had skipped most of his afternoon nap."

"Did he ever go back to this topic?"

"No, he didn't, and neither did I."

"I think he realized it was a slip on your part. He knows you aren't perfect, and he's waiting for the time when the topic is on the table again."

"You might be right. He's marking days on the calendar."

"Don't worry. Just try to keep yourself under control. How do you feel now that you are not together all the time?"

"I miss him a lot. And yet, perversely, I also enjoy working. And even more, I enjoy how happy he is. He is really getting some of his memory back, and it shows. Chase told me he gave them an important hint yesterday. When I met him for lunch he was beaming."

"How is the socializing going?"

"Very well. He has gone with Chase to sing at a Karaoke bar and with Thirteen to see a lesbian show. Taub wants to go bowling with him next week. Kutner has introduced him to a number of complex computer games. Even Cuddy is planning something."

"How do you react to this?"

"I guess I should be relieved. I have scheduled a dinner out with Brown to discuss the oncology organization, and a movie with an old friend from the cinema group I was part of before House had his infarction. But I'm mostly jealous of everybody else he spends time with. I guess I always was, but being aware of it makes me hurt more, not less."

"You're a strong man. You'll manage. And you're right, House needs this."

* * *

"Can I have a whiteboard, pens, and erasers at home?"

"We'll find a place. Anything else?"

"Do we have medical books? You know, reference books. I want to study. Often I remember the general picture but I miss a detail. A name or a figure. The therapist said I can do it."

"I've put a lot of our stuff in storage, I can get it back. But there's not enough room at home."

"Maybe I can keep most of the books in the office. There's lots of space in our offices. And then we can stay there until 5 or 6, so I have time to learn. I have many less therapies, and sometimes I can go with Chase or Thirteen or Foreman or Taub. This way you can work more. I heard Brown asking you to stay longer yesterday, and also three days ago."

"Is this really what you want?"

"Yes. I like to read medical books. They're better than children's books. They're more precise. And they have a purpose. Maybe I can help the others."

"If that's what you want, we'll do it. But remember we can change back any time. And now put on your coat and we'll go buy a whiteboard."

"Thank you, Jimmy." Wilson expected a hug, when House approached. But instead the cane was left against the wall: two large hands, one of them calloused, cupped his face, turned it upwards, and then two warm lips were briefly and chastely pressed against his. Then House got his cane again and went to retrieve his coat.

* * *

"Today's diagnosis was awesome." They were crowded around a bar table, a half-empty pitcher of beer and three glasses, since Kutner was away visiting his family and Taub was having dinner with his wife.

"Like having the old House back."

"With the diagnostic insight and without the insults. House 2.0."

"I'll drink to that. I'll be happy to stay Vice Head forever in such a case."

"Me too. Plus, he's a great karaoke partner."

"Is that all you two do together? I doubt I'm the only one here who bats for both teams."

"Look, I'm not the one dragging him along to lesbian bars and drag queen events. You'll make him confused about his gender." Chase laughed and swallowed more beer. "No, I wouldn't mind but I don't think he finds me attractive any more than he did Cameron, or he does you. Wilson, on the other hand...I wasn't sure before, and I'm less sure now."

Foreman shook his head in disbelief. "Wilson devoted himself to House as a way to atone his guilt for killing his higher brain functions in the first place. Which is maybe a good thing, otherwise by now he would be divorcing Ms Wilson number 4 or 5."

"Now he's not so devoted anymore. House spends many evenings with us and with Cuddy, and they both are in the hospital almost as long as before."

"They still live together."

"I think it's just temporary. House is getting better fast. The gossip at Neurology is that they might change his legal status relatively soon to responsible adult. Which doesn't mean he will have his memory back, because he won't."

"Great. I wonder when Wilson will man up and tell House that it's him who almost transformed the East Coast's top diagnostician into a vegetable. I'm pretty sure House will be able to understand the details soon, and I can't imagine he would want to even see Wilson's face after that."

"It was House who chose to have the DBS, and he knew what he was doing. I'm not sure what will happen once the guardianship is lifted."

"Me neither. And I don't even want to bet. It's too sad anyway."


	16. An Evening With Cuddy

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

Chapters: 20

* * *

**Chapter 16 - An Evening With Cuddy**

"Hi, Carmen." House really liked his psychotherapist, and no longer minded being without Wilson in his sessions with her.

"Welcome, Greg. How do you like your new life, working at the hospital?"

"I love it. I'm not sure how much I am remembering and how much I am learning again, but it's fun. And there's such a special thrill in what we do; it's not just a puzzle, it's a way to give a person health again. Sometimes saving a life. It's exciting. Is this really what I used to do?"

"Yes, it is. And you were the best at it."

"The best in the hospital?"

"Possibly the best in the US. Certainly in the top five."

"Wow. I must have forgotten a lot. Now each team member is better than me."

"Always?"

"Well, no. Not always. There were two cases in which it was my idea that saved the patients last week. And one the week before that. It gets easier as my knowledge widens." He frowned. "Unfortunately I can't read my books in foreign languages anymore. Only my own notes in English."

"You'll get better. You may never be board certified again, but you will save more lives. What timetable are you working now?"

"8-6. I was supposed to start at 9 but I missed the best part of the discussion. And I didn't want to go away early and have to wait the next day for the lab results. Plus, I can keep working at home, when needed. It's hard to let go when a patient is in need."

"What does Jimmy say about it?"

"He's worried. He always makes sure that I eat enough, and that I don't skip my physical therapy and get my meds in time."

"You now see so much less of him. What do you feel about this?"

"Jimmy's happier since he started working again. And I like my new friends. Singing with Chase made me want to start playing the piano again, so now I also have a piano teacher and practice every day. And I love going out with Thirteen. We do all kinds of funny things. She told me that I helped her at a difficult moment of her life. That I always was a good person with a rough skin, and that all that happened is that I lost the rough skin."

"That's great. Who else do you feel close to?"

"There's Cuddy. She's always looking at me in a strange way. In a sense she reminds me of Jimmy. Someone told me she was heartbroken when I didn't recognize her. I find her very beautiful. Thirteen is very good looking too, but she doesn't make me want to have sex with her. Cuddy does. Maybe even make love. Is it possible that we loved each other before?"

"You were certainly very close. Have you spent a lot of time together?"

"She's very busy. Sometimes I have lunch with her instead of Jimmy. I'm not sure he eats when I'm not with him, though. And tonight I'm having dinner with her and spending the night at her place. They agreed that Jimmy deserved a quiet night alone." House paused, and thought hard. "That was actually weird. He never said he needed time off from me before. In fact, when he told me about the sleepover at Cuddy's, he looked worried. I told him I would behave myself, and he said he was sure of that. He smiled, but I saw him when he was preparing my bag and he wasn't smiling at all."

"Maybe he think he will miss you."

"Maybe. But it's no big deal, just one night."

* * *

"Hi, Cuddy. I've brought ice-cream."

"Thanks a lot. Did Wilson tell you to?"

"No, he wanted me to bring you roses. But what would you do with roses? I know the petals are edible, but ice-cream is better. Who else is there?"

"Nobody. Sit down. The idea of this evening is to talk a lot, to help you remember and to tell you stuff from the past." The table was covered with food buffet-style. Both Cuddy and House could serve themselves, so that conversation could flow uninterrupted. Cuddy didn't tell House this was Wilson's idea. "Do you know how we met?"

"I was told you hired me here, so I guess it was during...an interview, right?"

"The word interview is right, and this is what everybody here believes. But we had met before, when I was an undergraduate student and you were in medical school. You were 26 and I was 20. We met at a party, we were bored and went out together and spent the night talking. We then met again, just the two of us, for a few times. Then you had to leave college and we didn't see each other again years later during your interview."

"We were very young. Were we friends?"

"We were more and less than friends. We didn't know each other so well. But we liked each other a lot. We liked dancing together, running together. And we liked each other's bodies."

"Did we have sex together?"

Luckily Wilson, or rather Wilson's therapist, had provided her with a dictionary of Housespeak. "We had sex, but for me it was definitely making love. Maybe also for you. I never knew exactly. I think so."

"Did I ever have sex with you here in Princeton?"

"No, you never did. You always claimed to find me attractive, but never really tried to initiate a relationship with me." She drank deeply from her glass. "I also find you very attractive. I just am and was very doubtful that it would be a good idea for us to be together, and probably you felt the same."

"Did I have other relationships besides Stacy?"

"Not that I know of. But you sometimes paid women to have sex with you, at least after the infarction. "

"Did I ever have sex with a man before...before I lost my memory?"

Cuddy's eyes were like knives, trying to pierce his skull and read inside it what this repeated "before" meant about the depth of the current relationship between Wilson and House. "Not that I know of. I'm almost sure you wouldn't have told me, though. All I know is that you never had an official relationship with another man."

"I've read that most humans are attracted to only one sex. So this would mean I am heterosexual, right?"

"That's of course the most likely option. In principle you could be bisexual. You know Thirteen is."

"Would you like to have sex with me tonight? It might help me understand what I really want." Cuddy's cheeks had turned as red as if he had slapped her. "I'm sorry! I said something wrong, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't. Just said something explicitly which is usually only hinted at." She caught her breath. "Hints are better than direct questions because they leave more time for answering. I'm not sure what my answer is." She paused. "Sex means that it's not love, right? We just enjoy each other's bodies?"

"Yes, that's what I meant."

"I think the answer is yes."


	17. Teaching Hate

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

Chapters: 20

* * *

**Chapter 17 - Teaching Hate**

Cuddy's eyes had looked very beautiful, as she smiled and told House she would be happy to have sex with him. But her expression turned serious, almost sad, and her voice tone changed with her next words. "Unfortunately, there is another topic I have to discuss with you this evening. Even if I don't want to. Because Wilson asked me to. It's about him, and about you."

"Why couldn't he talk to me directly? We see each other every day."

"Because he's ashamed of what he did and afraid of your reactions. It's something you in a sense already know, except you now have lots of your medical knowledge back and can understand in a different way. And before we get to that, I want to review with you the reason you walk with a cane."

"I had an infarction, lots of my thigh muscle died, and a fasciotomy was performed, leading to functional damage and permanent pain."

"That's right. Other options would have been amputation, which would have left you with a prosthesis and presumably no pain, and just restoring the blood flow, which would have given you no or little handicap and a nontrivial death risk. Do you know who took the decision?"

"I did, I guess. I wasn't sick in my head, I could think."

"You did. And you chose the death risk. The pain was unbearable, so you asked to be put into a temporary coma. And" Cuddy couldn't look House in the eyes anymore "when you lost consciousness, Stacy decided for the fasciotomy. Under my advice."

"What was Jimmy's opinion?"

"He wasn't there, and it didn't matter because he had no way to decide for you. I believe he would have tried to persuade Stacy to accept your choice. Even if it meant risking your life. Later, you drove Stacy away. Her choice had killed your love. You just hurt each other for months, and then she left. Some years later you were briefly flirting with her, but you couldn't really get near each other without hurting all over again."

"Was I angry at you for the advice you gave?"

"Briefly. You knew I had done my best. And it was Stacy's decision, not mine. She wanted to make sure you would survive."

"Didn't I forgive Stacy when she cared for me after the infarction? Jimmy said I had a long rehab."

"That is true. But it wasn't Stacy who helped you through it. Wilson did. It destroyed his second marriage. He took an extended leave of absence and just cared for you. Made sure you took your meds and did his best to drag you to physical therapy. I think without him you would be in a wheelchair, or maybe dead because of alcoholism or suicide."

"Why did Jimmy do that? Was I thankful to him?"

"No. You treated him horribly. You insulted him every day and told him to go away. He said that it was just your pain talking and ignored it. I think he only realized his marriage was over when he got her lawyer's letter, but he basically forgot his wife for months. He was so busy with you."

"Why?"

"Why, indeed. This is something only he can tell you. What I can tell you is that he remained your loyal friend. He was ready to give up his job for you once. And he was ready to give up his job, his license, and go to jail so as to save you from going to jail yourself, once when you...well let's not go there. Anyway, he was devoted to you, and even though another wife came and went, you were the person he was closest to. You seemed to not have had, or needed, other friends."

"So what happened with...Amber?"

"You and Amber had similar personalities, and she was the only woman in Wilson's life to realize immediately how important you were to him. She set up a schedule so that both of you could have some time with Wilson. You got less time than she did, but more than a friend would normally have as compared to a girlfriend. You've been told how Amber and you ended up in that bus."

"Yes. Also that I had lost my memory, and that I knew that it contained important information, possibly the only chance to save Amber's life."

"Exactly. There was a discussion, and you mentioned that deep brain stimulation might be more efficient in recovering lost memories. It was then ruled out as being too dangerous for someone with a cracked skull. Can you understand this?"

"It was very dangerous, and the damage I have suffered is not particularly surprising. In fact, what is surprising is how much I've recovered. I could have died, too." House paused, before adding "It is surprising the procedure got authorized at all, and that I consented. I know how dangerous it was because Jimmy made me read two textbooks on brain injuries recently."

"He would," She sighed. "And then Wilson couldn't stand the idea of Amber dying. He went to see you, and asked you to do the DBS all the same. And you asked him 'Do you want me to risk my life for the chance of saving her?' and he answered yes. And you agreed."

"How do you know this? Where you there?"

"No. You two were alone. Wilson told me, so that I would be able to tell you." Cuddy was crying. She knew she should stop but couldn't. "You then called Stacy, who was your lawyer, and arranged everything both in case of your death and of your survival in a brain damaged state. Despite everyone but Wilson trying to stop you, you underwent DBS, and your brain was damaged. But before that you did diagnose Amber. Only it was too late."

"I know that part. Jimmy told me."

"What he didn't tell you is that he never went to see you in the hospital after her death. I finally had to go and force him to come to your bedside because it was our last hope of recovering a shred of your memory. In a sense he hated you; he would have wanted you dead, and Amber alive." Cuddy was crying harder now. "He insisted that I tell you this. He feels you should hate him. He told me that I should tell you this because I care for you, and hence hate him for destroying your life. He thought you could learn from my hate."

"Do you really hate Jimmy?"

"Sometimes I do. After we have sex tonight I think I will hate him more. Because deep down, I thought we would eventually have gotten together."

"Does he wish me to hate him?"

"No, but he thinks this is what he deserves. He hates himself for what he did. For making you lose your brain, and risking your life."

"Did he tell you we had sex together recently?"

"He did. He said he did it because his therapist told him to, and followed his rules. He could have sex, but not make love."

"And he told you all this? Wouldn't this be considerate... private?"

"It is nice to see you've learnt so much, so fast. For some things you're better at them than you used to be. Yes, it is private. But he wanted me to talk to you honestly, and felt I needed to know this as well. I think he wanted me to hate him as much as possible."

"That's a lot to think about. Thank you for the dinner. I know I'm supposed to spend the night here, and that you'll drive me to the hospital tomorrow. Can we still have sex? You told me we found each other attractive, and I need data."

"Sure. That's why you're here. Wilson insisted that I should ask you if you didn't. I most likely would have asked you anyway."


	18. House's Nights Out

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

Chapters: 20

* * *

**Chapter 18 - House's Nights Out**

Wilson was lying on the couch, dressed. He knew by now Cuddy had explained it all to House, and he would be able to estimate how guilty Wilson was. He expected House to be sleeping with Cuddy, to their mutual enjoyment. He knew that having Cuddy get custody would be possible, and easy with his support. Or maybe it wouldn't be needed; if House was declared legally responsible again, he could just move in with her.

Once House was out of his hands, he would be free to decide for himself. Which wouldn't be too difficult; he had long been prepared. Luckily he didn't believe in hell, or with what he had done and what he planned to do he would certainly go there. He already was there, in a sense. But he had to resist as long as House needed him. He hoped it would soon be over. He lay down in the dark, not sleeping, not really thinking, for a long time.

* * *

"Hi House. I'm all done in my office. Should we go home now?"

"I'd rather stay in the office a little bit longer Jimmy, but I guess we need time for physical therapy. It's great that we can do some of it at home together."

"I saw you sitting alone in your office all day long. No case?"

"We have a case, but I had a lot of thinking to do. They gave me a day off."

"Is this related to yesterday's stay a Cuddy's?"

"Yes. There are many things I need to think about." House looked at his friend's worn out face. "You looked like you didn't very much enjoy your evening alone."

"I had...trouble sleeping. Must have gotten used to your snoring."

"Cuddy says I don't snore. And sex with her...Wow. You hadn't told me it would be so different with a woman. But you knew that, right?"

Wilson blushed. "Yes, I knew. I should have warned you."

"I think I will want to spend the night at Cuddy's place again sometimes. She said she was okay with the sex-not-love agreement. But not too often, if you can't sleep. At least tonight I'll be with you and we can both sleep well. Let's go home."

"I'll get used to it, I guess. But Cuddy was also supposed to talk to you about many things yesterday. Is there anything you want to talk about? Questions?"

"I just need to think some more. I will need to talk, but it might take quite a while. I also need to ask different questions to different people."

* * *

"That was a really long sleepover you had with Chase! Was it fun? It's almost lunchtime, are you hungry?"

"Don't bother, we had a late breakfast. We went to a club he knows and we met some nice girls and we tried group sex, the two of us and three women. That was amazing! Although also exhausting. I doubt I'll ever want to do it again. But it puts the experience with Cuddy into perspective – seems she's not that special."

"Uh, I'll need to talk to Chase about what's appropriate for you."

"Don't worry, I'm fine and we used condoms. Also, the three women left around one am. I spent several hours talking to Chase over brunch this morning. About how things were before. Cuddy had mentioned a number of things about the past, and I wanted to verify. I've been talking a lot to Foreman, too – except he doesn't like hanging around with me in the evening, so we did it in my office while waiting for test results. I'm learning a lot about who I was and...how you were. Before."

"Maybe at some point you will have questions for me?"

"I think that point is getting nearer. But not quite yet." House smiled happily. "Thirteen has invited me for a sleepover next week. Can I go?"

"Of course. I trust her. Just make sure that Cuddy knows about all you are doing, before you accept her next invitation. She may claim all she cares about is sex, but I'm concerned you'll end up hurting her."

* * *

PS A reviewer complained that "someone at the mental age of a little kid has sex all the time and nobody thinks this could maybe not such a good idea. "

I wonder whether I really write so badly. I made it clear that House is no longer like a little child; indeed, the neurologists think he has recovered so much that he may not need a guardian anymore. Plus, the supposedly bad idea has been discussed and approved by his therapist. Maybe I should write larger that time is passing, and House is getting better.


	19. Adult Again

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

A reviewer complained that "someone at the mental age of a little kid has sex all the time and nobody thinks this could maybe not such a good idea. "

I wonder whether I really write badly. I made it clear that House is no longer like a little child; indeed, the neurologists think he has recovered so much that he may not need a guardian anymore. Plus, the supposedly bad idea has been discussed and approved by his therapist. Maybe I should write larger that time is passing, and House is getting better. Like, boldface.

* * *

**Chapter 19 - Adult Again**

"Dinner in an elegant restaurant. You're treating me like...like I was a normal person, Jimmy."

"You are a normal person. Tomorrow the audience will officially establish this, but it will be little more than a formality. I wanted to celebrate the end of custody. You're a free man, now, House."

"Yeah, I know. It's a bit...frightening. But it doesn't mean I have to move out, does it?"

"Certainly not! Remember, where we live is your place. No, what you gain is the right to throw me out. And have someone else move in, or move in yourself with someone else."

"Why would I want to throw you out?"

"Well...you know about what I did and why. You talked to Cuddy, and you talked to others. You had plenty of time to think."

"You're right. I did. There's still one person I haven't asked questions to and that is...you."

"You wouldn't. I mean, I'm your guardian and everything. I have power over you. How can you accuse me for what I've done? That's why I wanted to have this dinner today. Because tomorrow...tomorrow you can tell me, freely, what you really think about me."

"I... do you really think I would say something different tomorrow than today?"

"I cannot know for sure. I will know tomorrow, though."

"Are you afraid?"

"I should be. But in fact, I'm relieved. Relieved that you gained back so much of your brain, although what you lost is still so much more. And relieved that you will be able to choose whom you want to share your life with from now on. There are so many people who would find it pleasant, either as lovers or as friends."

"That's true. I have many possibilities."

"That's what makes me so happy. For a while, there was only me in your life. Now you will be free. A free man, if forever a different one from what you used to be." Wilson looked at him, burning shame clearly visible in his eyes. "Different from what you would still be, hadn't it been for my selfishness and your generosity."

* * *

It was the same tribunal as the custody audience, but a very different room, and a very different mood. The room was so small that only a few of the people who had wanted to be there were allowed to be present.

This time House was able to speak for himself, and was wearing a tie. And Wilson didn't look worried, but relieved. And a bit incredulous. House's recovery, as testified in the thick folders that had been forwarded to the tribunal together with a short summary by the two leading neurologists of the team, was an almost medical miracle. Almost but not quite, since such recoveries had occurred before; they were just very, very rare. House had been lucky, and the experts agreed that his chances had been improved by the care he received.

There was no jury; at the end of House's interview, and of his lawyer's final speech, the Judge had simply declared that House was now a responsible adult again, and that Wilson's custody was therefore terminated. Nobody had been surprised when House's first reaction had been to throw his arms around Wilson and hug him hard.

* * *

And now it was time for the party. As House entered his flat, loud applause started. A huge banner read "Welcome back to adulthood Greg House!" and all his friends were there, both the few that had been allowed in the very private audience, and everybody else that had been waiting outside. There was food everywhere and the first champagne bottles were being popped open.

Blythe stepped forward and embraced her son. "This is a wonderful day, Greg! Like a new birthday!" She then searched the room and walked up to someone who seemed to be hiding in a corner. "James, John and I want to thank you. Greg would never have made it without your help."

"I think you should really thank Dr. Cuddy, and the Diagnostics group. It was their contribution that made him achieve what he did. I...I am just the cause of the problem, not the solution." The last few words were spoken so low that Blythe couldn't hear them. She was mildly worried that Wilson didn't look too well, but then she realized he was probably just tired. He had had to work with Stacy on the paperwork for today's celebration as his last duty as House's guardian.

* * *

"You did a great job, Stacy!"

"You did most of it, Greg. It's wonderful to be here celebrating. Is it true that you have a job lined up at Diagnostics?"

"Yes. It's unclear whether I'll ever manage to get board certified, viewed that my memory is still quite impacted, but Cuddy managed to get me an external consultant position. Basically my previous job, minus the clinic hours and the paperwork. What's not to love?"

"You forget the severely reduced income. I'm a careful administrator, you know?"

"And a very hot lady, too! It's nice you dressed the twins in their sexiest outfits today!"

Stacy and Cuddy laughed together. But there was a deep hint of sadness in the look they exchanged when House and his cane walked away to chat with Thirteen and her newest girlfriend, a very nerdy-looking medical student.

It was a look that said that they both had loved and lost.

someone at the mental age of a little kid has


	20. Questions And Answers

Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22.

Warning: mention of sexual violence (in the past, nongraphical)

Dedication: I want to dedicate this last installment to my reader and reviewer tetrafish06. Thank you for your unwavering support!

Chapters: 20

* * *

**Chapter 20 - Questions And Answers**

The party was over, the guests gone. Wilson had talked House into having a nap, during which he had restored the living room to a semblance of order, and now it was time for a small dinner, and maybe some physical therapy before the evening's last painkiller. "House, wake up! Time for dinner."

"I wasn't sleeping and I'm not hungry. Can you come in here?"

"Sure." Wilson sat on the bed and smiled. The smile wasn't very convincing, unfortunately, because he feared what was to come. At least he was satisfied with what he had achieved today.

"I meant take off you shirt and pants and climb in bed with me. I need to talk to you about many important things and I'll feel better if we are close." Wilson obeyed. He felt more vulnerable dressed only in his underwear, but if the time had come for him to be punished, vulnerable was the way he should be. "What should I call you now? Everybody tells me I used to call you Wilson."

"Whatever you want. It was your choice to call me Wilson to begin with."

"What would you want me to call you?"

"It doesn't matter so much, does it? I'm no longer your guardian, and there are a number of other people you should choose to spend your time with instead of me." They were both surprised, House almost frightened, by the extreme bitterness of his tone.

"What are you talking about?"

Wilson spoke as though he had rehearsed the sentences many times in his mind. "I killed you, House. Or at least, I killed the most important part of you: your brain and your job. You treated Stacy like hell just for a little muscle, what do I deserve? Plus, she was trying to save your life. I was trying to save someone else. I was heartless and selfish. What I did to you was horrible. And for a long time I couldn't even explain it to you properly, and you thought I was helping you...while I had hurt you to begin with. I will do anything you ask me to, but there's no way I can undo the damage I did."

Wilson was not crying. He was not looking at House, or at anything else.

"You could start by answering a few questions. Can you promise to answer them honestly?"

Wilson nodded.

"Why did you care for me after the infarction?"

"Nobody else was doing it. You were no good at taking care of yourself. You were my friend."

House looked intensely at him, wondering whether this could be considered a sufficient answer. Then he asked his next question.

"Is it true that you have been in love with me since before Amber? How long?"

A pause was needed. Because every word was important. "Yes. I don't know how long. It took me a long time to accept I could be in love with someone who was so obviously only interested to me as a friend. But I knew at least since my last divorce. In a weaker sense, since the infarction. Amber was my way to find a relationship which would be as close as possible to what I wanted with you."

"I had long discussions with Thirteen. She introduced me to several men she knows, who live in same-sex relationships. They told me about the difficulties, but they also explained that even two men can make love and be in love and commit to each other. They told me how difficult it sometimes is to see what is directly in front of your nose. Is it true that it was painful for you to play the 'sex-but-no-love' game the therapist forced on you?"

"I don't know how you found out, but it's true. I hated it. It was at the same time so near and so far from what I really wanted."

"Have you ever had sex with another man?"

"Sex, like what we had together so far, yes. When a teenager, with my best friend. It was fun and pleasant and not so important." Wilson paused. He had to tell the end of the story, although he didn't like it. "It might have become love, but my father found out. He...he hit me with his belt. Said I should stop." Wilson turned pale. Waited. Remembered his promise to tell House the truth. The whole truth. "At my high school prom, I got very drunk. Someone offered to drive me home. He stopped the car halfway and raped me. I stayed away from men sexually since then."

House held his friend tighter. Once when discussing sex, his therapist had explained to him what rape meant, and what impact it could have. She had probably been preparing him for this moment – she and Wilson's therapist worked together of course. A long silence followed, and House knew that it was he who had to break it. Because now, for the first time since before the DBS, House was the strongest out of the two of them. "Would you want to be in a relationship with me? A love relationship, with making love and living together and commitment and monogamy and everyone knowing about it?"

Wilson's consciousness snapped back from a night of more twenty years ago. His brain repeated the words just heard, trying to make sense of them. He thought he must be dreaming. "House, are you crazy? I'm telling you, not only I tried to kill you, but I'm also damaged goods from a sexual viewpoint. If I thought that I could make you happy, nothing could be better. But there's no way I can make another person happy. Especially not you."

"You aren't my guardian anymore. I'm a responsible adult again, and I am free to choose which risks I want to take. If you really want to do something for me, so that you can stop feeling guilty, then give the two of us a chance. Starting now. In this bed, making love to me. Because however pleasant it was with Cuddy or with Chase's girls, I know sex with love is so much better; even the little we had together was better. And I don't love Cuddy. I love you, and you love me." House's hands tenderly undressed both of them under the comforter. Then he hugged his friend close, letting him nestle his face on his shoulder, their bodies slowly acknowledging each other's touch and reacting to it.

Wilson felt intoxicated by the feeling of being naked together. It made it difficult to think. "I love you, yes, and I still can't believe you love me." He paused. "It's like all my dreams are coming true."

* * *

Wilson slowly untied the knots in his soul, with House's help and the help of his therapist. The two lovers had been expanding their physical relationship, and the night just finished had been somewhat of a milestone.

"Good morning, House. Took you long to wake up."

"Well, I worked hard yesterday night." He smiled, remembering. "That lovely smell wouldn't be pancakes, would it?"

"Pancakes it is! We need to celebrate my first time." Wilson's smile was even wider.

They ate together, both loosely dressed in sweatpants and t-shirts, their hair slightly damp from the shower. Then House motioned Wilson to sit near him on the couch, and opened a cardboard box full of files.

"Since you want to celebrate, there's something I want to show you. Stacy gave me back all the documents I prepared with her before the DBS. This one was for you, but luckily you didn't get it."

The envelope had written on it just _Wilson_, with the well-known handwriting. The seal had been broken but the sheet of paper was obviously the original, with a letterhead the hospital had stopped using short after the date of the letter, the day of the DBS.

_If you are reading this it means the DBS went wrong and I'm dead. I estimate the chances of this happening as between 1 and 5%; not so big, but worth preparing for. It is my opinion that your natural reaction to this, in the not unlikely case that Amber also dies, will be to commit suicide, crushed by guilt towards me. _

_Please don't. Not so much because you're a good doctor and a number of cancer patients need you: you know that already. The main point is you didn't force me, you asked me. You asked me because you would have done anything for a person you loved. And I now realize that so many times I was the person you loved, and you did everything you could, often without even receiving a thank you. _

_So now it's my turn. I've taken a risk for you, and I lost. At least I died trying to do something useful. Trying to help someone I love. And that's not Amber, it's you. So keep living and working, Jimmy, my Boy Wonder Oncologist. And thank you for your friendship and your love._

House looked through the window. He now was a grownup, and understood that his lover didn't want to be looked at when he was crying.

After a while he felt a delicate tap on his shoulder. Wilson returned the letter with a smile, his eyes now dry but slightly red-rimmed. "Thank you. I should give you something in return." He thought for a while, then added "I'll be back in a minute," and disappeared towards the bedroom.

House was left wondering what the something could be, since he knew Wilson had kept no material possession for himself. Maybe it would be a family heirloom. He could hear the document safe being opened, and steps returning. "Here you are."

He opened a small black box, containing some syringes and a few medication vials, of the standard kind that PPTH's pharmacy issued for internal use. And then he read the labels, and his neck hair went up. The box contained death. He couldn't remember the details, but there were enough chemotherapy drugs in the box to kill a man of average weight – _say, Wilson_ – and to do so in such an efficient way that even immediate intervention wouldn't be enough to save him.

He was so busy worrying that he was taken by surprise when Wilson started speaking. "This box has been ready since the day after Amber's funeral. I didn't want to live after what I'd done to you, but I knew I had to take care of you first. It helped me to know that whenever I was no longer needed I was free to go."

Wilson took the box from House's shivering hands, closed it and laid it on the table. "Your gift is to destroy its content. You showed me your love by being ready to die for me. It's only right that I show you mine by being ready to live for you."


End file.
